


Shakes My Soul Like A Pothole

by Chloe_Sarai



Category: British Actor RPF, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chloe_Sarai/pseuds/Chloe_Sarai
Summary: “Trusting the one you love always brings good results.” ~Paulo CoelhoWhat happens when trust is broken and love isn't enough? A history that spans decades destroyed by infidelity.Disclaimer: This is a mix of RP and fiction because I felt like it. I own no one except Chrissy. Everyone else is famous or fiction and I am taking liberties with them. Oh yeah.





	Shakes My Soul Like A Pothole

**Author's Note:**

> Story Notes: This began as a prompt that turned into four prompts and evolved into a story. All at separate times and so the emotions may flow differently. There is infidelity, foul language, semi-explicit sex and absolutely not beta’ed. All mistakes are my own as no one has read this shid yet. I used Rene Russo and Anthony Hopkins in place of Chris’ real parents.

** Mistake **

 “Jane’s pregnant.”

“Good for her.” Tom didn’t look up from his reading, appearing fully immersed in the lives of the characters. “It’s about time she let go of this schoolgirl crush she has on you.”

“Tom.” Chris waited for him to look up, silently urging him to read between the lines. “She’s pregnant.”

“Did you volunteer us to be godparents?” Tom glanced up briefly before looking down to mark his page and turned his full attention on Chris. “Not only do children hate me, but I hate her. So it’ll be a cycle of hatred, Chris, really.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Chris hesitated, unsure how to speak the words needed, afraid to be honest for once in his life. “It’s me.”

“It’s you what?” Frustration seeped into Tom’s voice, his expressions ranging in emotions from confusion to understanding as his eyes, fierce and searching, roved over Chris for tangible evidence of his indiscretions.

“Tom.”

“Stop saying my fucking name and speak clearly.”

Tom rose swiftly from his chair, book falling forgotten and landing with a muffled thud on the carpet.

Chris rubbed his large palms together, buying time while the words formed on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t speak, didn’t think he could if he wanted to. He wished he could go back in time and tell his past self to cease his simple flirtations with Jane. Tell him not to tempt fate with his foolishness, his _sofuckingselfish_ need to feel desired, and accepting Jane’s empty flattery with blatant encouragement.

“How long have you been fucking her?” Tom spoke into the silence, his eyes boring into Chris’. “Did you fuck her in our home?”

The room remained silent save for the _tick tock_ of their old-fashioned wall clock. The distant blaring of horns and people passing by on their street barely breached the thick bubble of tension in the room.

Tom’s chest rose and fell rapidly, a wet, breathy sound as he attempted to gain control of himself.

“I would never bring her here,” Chris said finally. He supposed it fair Tom doubt him in this if his dubious look was anything to go by. “I swear I didn’t.”

“You could swear your firstborn child and I still wouldn’t believe you.”

Tom’s tone was the nastiest Chris ever heard from him.

“You could promise, you could vow, you could take an oath and it still would mean jack shit to me.”

“I suppose I deserve that.”

“What you deserve is so much worse than you will ever receive,” Tom replied. He visibly swallowed, the bob of his Adam’s apple rapid in movement. “Is she keeping it?”

“You will never know how sorry I am.”

Chris means it with every fiber of his being. Every part of his soul hurts for abusing Tom in this way.

“Answer the question.”

“She is.” Chris nods with reluctance. “But I can’t lose you, Tom.”

“Then maybe you should’ve thought of that before!”

“I know I was –”

“Selfish!” Tom interrupts.

His lip curls, his burning stare full of disgust as his eyes roam over Chris’ face.

“I bet you feel so proud of yourself, making a fool of me right under my nose.”

“I know my word means nothing to you,” Chris replied. “I have damaged our bond, I know this, but don’t think I get _any_ satisfaction from causing you pain.”

“I trusted you.”

He turned away from Chris and paced back and forth. His breath hitching with the small, injured sounds he attempted to muffle. His silence painful in ways his yelling isn’t.

Chris could take Tom’s angry vitriol. He cannot take his heartbreak.

“I trusted you enough to believe the late nights working were really late nights spent working. Waited here in our bed for you and you were out. . .out.”

Tom waves an arm at nothing, at everything, stopping and looking into nothingness.

Chris wants to take Tom’s shaking form in his arms, comfort him and take relief in kind. He associates Tom with joy and laughter, not broken sobs and tears. To know he caused his lover such injury is beyond bearable and he silently begs any God listening for a fighting chance to keep their hearts intact.

“The problem is–” Tom trailed off into the tense silence.

He turned to look at Chris, briefly meeting his eyes before facing the fireplace lined with pictures of them and their families.

Strangers compared to whom they are in this moment.

“The problem is I’ve only ever loved you.”

So much emphasis on one word.

 _You_.

Spoken like a curse. Spoken like a disappointment.

“I’ve only loved you,” Chris spoke to Tom’s back, cautiously walking forward to get as near as possible. “You have to know this.”

“No. There is one person you love.” Tom faced Chris again and took several steps away to maintain distance. “Yourself. You thought of nothing and no one except yourself.”

“I made a mistake,” Chris began, stuttering to a stop at Tom’s raised hand.

“You made several,” Tom grit out, lips curling over teeth. “The first was inviting her into _our_ lives against my express wishes. I told you she felt more than friendship for you. You told me I was being silly and insecure. Now I see why, you lying fucktwat.”

“Whatever connection you think you’ve made is wrong. It wasn’t like that in the beginning.” Chris moved closer to Tom, again halting at the glare he received.

“I was wrong. It should’ve never happened,” Chris conceded. “I’m trying to make it right. I can’t lose you, baby. I will fix everything, I promise. Starting with us.”

“There is no making this, _us_ , right,” Tom said. He scrubbed his hands against his eyes; efforts wasted as tears welled up and spilled over. “You made your choice when you fucked her.”

“Tom –”

“Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom,” he mocked, his mouth twisted in an angry moue. “You don’t get to cry or be sad or any other fucking fucked up pitying emotion you want to feel. You did this to us. You broke us.”

“Please let me fix this,” Chris pleaded, ignoring common sense and gathering Tom in his arms, burying his nose in the man’s dark blonde curls and inhaling his scent.

The slighter man struggled within his hold, but he held tighter, firmer. His gut told him if he let go for even a fraction of a second he’d never have another opportunity to have him close again.

“Tell me how I can keep you. Please, sweetheart.”

Tom stilled in his arms and Chris took the chance to garner a better wrap on him, maneuvering Tom closer and wrapping his arms around his torso.

“I am asking you for the chance to make it right. I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve even half of your love. But if you give me a chance I will make sure you never regret it.”

Chris leaned away, hands rising to bracket Tom’s face. His large thumbs swiped through the tears, his own spilling over in unison. He could just barely make out Tom’s definitive features; the rose pink of his lips, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the blue of his eyes that so resembled the shallows of a lagoon.

“I deserved better than this.” Tom placed his hands on Chris’ chest, pushing him away. “If you were unhappy, you should’ve come to me. We could’ve ended it before it had to come to _this_ , Chris.”

“I wasn’t unhappy,” Chris murmured, barely a whisper.

Shame burned its way through his him at the look of incredulity from Tom.

“So you’ve broken us for what,” Tom spat, “a quick fuck that’s now carrying your fucking child!”

“Baby. . .” Chris hesitated, hand reaching out before dropping to his side at Tom’s scoff. “Please. I need you.”

“It’s not about what you need!”

Chris swallowed thickly around the clog of emotion in his throat. Every word he uttered took Tom further away from him mentally and emotionally.

It seemed best to simply shut the fuck up for a moment.

“I needed my lover to not fuck his secretary and lie to my face about it.”

Tom ran a hand through his unruly hair, ruffling it into further disarray. He sighed from deep within his chest for several moments.

“Did you even wear protection?”

Chris recalled the last few encounters with Jane, his carelessness heady like an addictive drug, plunging into her wet folds with relish and a clear lack of concern for the consequences.

He couldn’t meet Tom’s eyes, the weight of his actions finally catching up with him full force.

“You didn’t give me the choice to say I wanted no part of this. You made the decision for me,” Tom continued.

Chris doesn’t have an artillery full of words, they never come out right when he tries. Now isn’t any different.

It’s not as if Tom speaks falsehoods; Chris lost himself in the thrill, the freshness of someone new. He and Tom had a routine. Both knew the other so well they could communicate through eye contact and body language alone.

Jane was a monkey wrench.

An unpredictable factor in his sedate life and one he enjoyed immensely until he no longer did. He tried breaking it off, uncaring of her tears, just wanting life to return to normal. She, _they_ , were no longer fun. She clung with no space in-between, comparable to cigarette smoke when it stuck to the fingers, skin and hair, cloying and unwanted.

Unsubtle in her simple demands that he make a choice when the only option for him would only ever be Tom.

Chris ended his affair when Jane visited his home uninvited, missing Tom leaving for work by a few scant minutes. The fear he felt at being discovered suffocated him and he hated being afraid more than anything.

He never wanted to strike a woman until her stunt and it took all his might to restrain himself. He made sure HR switched Jane to a different department, far away from his own, and hired a suitably older and less attractive assistant.

Chris rightly assumed Jane took the hint when he didn’t hear from her for two weeks. He saw her in passing once after leaving a conference and attempted a small, awkward smile. Jane’s returning glance filled with betrayal and something he couldn’t pinpoint.

A week later she dropped the pregnancy bomb.

She caught him as he lowered himself into his car, saying what she needed to and rushing off. Chris remained in the lot until the street lights came on. His state of confusion on how to handle her, the baby, and their affair leaving him in a state of shock.

That night he went home to Tom, stripped him bare and found his release within the snug confines of his lover’s body where all seemed right in the world as long as they were connected.

He waited until Tom fell in a deep sleep, worn out and snoring with signs of their lovemaking still wet on his thighs, to sneak into his office and call Jane.

She answered with a smile in her voice, using the soft spoken voice she used when they first began sleeping together in her hope that it would lure him again. He cut straight to the point, asking her plans for the pregnancy and what exactly she wanted.

She flipped and flopped between answers, telling him her answer depended on his. How she thought about keeping the baby so they could really be a proper family, _if that’s what you want_.

It’s when he told her he didn’t want a child with _her,_ he would gladly take the child and raise it with Tom, that a fire lit within her and Chris knew she would keep this baby to spite him.

To destroy him through Tom.

Chris broke his reverie, took in the smiling faces in the pictures, the love that shone brightly from their eyes and wished again for a rewind.

Before him sat one of the greatest men in his life, one who showed his appreciation and respect for their relationship every chance he could get.

He breathed deep from his lungs, squashing the urge to throw himself at Tom’s feet and beg forgiveness. Chris would not lose this love, not lose his man, would fight with his all.

Tom’s presence firm in the household. His fresh and natural scent, akin to newly turned earth warmed by sunshine, permeated the house. His rock collection from all of the places they’ve visited lining the mantelpiece. Kitschy mementos from the many road trips taken with Tom, like their peanut bowl with the bright red font that read ‘Nuts All in Your Mouth’. Many of them bought against his express wishes and now he couldn’t envision their home without them.

Without Tom.

A life without his man is too unimaginable for Chris to conceive after being granted the right to love him freely and without pause. Jane couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend the depths of his feelings for this man.

It took the possibility of losing Tom for reality to sink in and understand that love might not be enough.

“Tell me what to do,” Chris said, voice rumbling deep from within his chest. “Give me a chance to set this right and I will never betray your trust again.”

A strained muteness fell over them, so foreign in a home endlessly filled with their families’ boisterous laughter and ceaseless chatter when they gathered.

When the two were alone, Tom’s laughter combined with Chris’ guffaws kept their house warm and inviting. Or when they made love, breathy sighs, the brush of skin caressing skin and hushed whispers as they curled together in the aftermath somehow louder in the stillness of the night.

“You have been everything to me,” Tom whispered, breaking the quiet.

He sat in the armchair, stood and sat again. His slender fingers grazed the edges of the coffee table as he stared anywhere except in Chris’ direction.

“I’ve been your _something_ and that’s not enough for me.”

“You are everything.” Chris moved until he stood a scant arm’s breadth from Tom, crouching next to the armchair to face his profile. “You won’t listen to my apologies, which is your right, but you will listen to my love.”

Tom sneered and shot him a look of skepticism before looking at a point above his head. The flesh of his knuckles whitened as he grasped the arm of the chair.

Chris yearned to know what he was thinking. Hoped Tom could entertain the possibility of helping him raise this child, staying together and building a stronger foundation over his fuck-ups.

He inched his hand slowly toward Tom’s leg, a pang striking deep within when Tom brushed it off with nary a glance.

 _You’re going to make me suffer aren’t you, sweetheart_ , he thinks.

“I love you, Tom.”

Tom huffed through his nose, leaned away from Chris as much as possible in the small confines of chair space.

Chris leaned closer and said, “I love you. My actions have dissuaded you from believing that truth, but Tom, you must know this.”

Tom turned to Chris, blue eyes glazed with a watery sheen. A flare of optimism lit within Chris that maybe, just maybe, he could get through to Tom.

“Say something, baby,” Chris beseeched. “Say anything. Say you hate me. Say you love me. Just say something.”

Chris had but a moment to regret teaching Tom boxing techniques before his lover swung with perfect accuracy, landing a blow smack into Chris’ jaw and knocking on his ass.

Stunned would be the least accurate word to describe how he felt in this moment. And it _hurt_. By God, his bony fist really fucking hurt.  

Before he could process what to do, Tom leapt atop him, punching him in his ribs in quick succession. Chris wouldn’t lay a hand on Tom although his angry lover didn’t share the same qualms.

Chris grappled with him, locking him between his legs before he pulled Tom down on top of him and rolled them over, trapping Tom between his chest and the hardwood floor.

“Stop, Tom.” Chris tried to catch his breath, chest heaving laboriously as he wrestled with the struggling man until he settled his full weight upon him. “Fucking stop already!”

Tom’s voice reached him muffled, buried as he was beneath Chris large frame, and he slowly eased up to allow him room to breathe.

“I’m going to let you up,” Chris said, blowing strands of blond hair away from his face. “Just don’t hit me.”

Chris rose with caution, easing his weight off Tom’s slighter frame. If he backed away from Tom quickly while the man stood from the floor, no one needed to know except for him. Tom too incalculable a factor in his righteous anger and Chris did trust him to not lash out again with fists or feet this time.

He shifted on his feet, winced when the tender flesh of his ribs throbbed with the movement, his jaw echoing the sentiment from the accuracy of Tom’s fists.

Tom faced the opposite direction, shoulders rapidly rising and falling as he caught his breath or battled tears, Chris knew not.

He approached with caution, standing within reach, and yet the distance between the pair seemingly miles, worlds apart. Chris ran one long finger down Tom’s spine, heart breaking when Tom stepped just out of reach.

“Give me time,” Tom whispered. He turned to face Chris, casting a searching look into Chris’ eyes before brushing past him and upstairs.

Chris stood there until Tom’s footsteps became muffled by hardwood turning into carpet as he pattered upstairs.

“I’ll give you whatever you need,” he alleged, remaining rooted to the spot.

****

** Forward **

Tom drives and drives and drives with no destination point in mind or sight. He will drive until he can no longer feel the biting, overwhelming pain stuck between his chest and throat. A knot of misery that he chokes on when memory strikes, climbing its way to the surface every time he swallows.

He bargains with himself to keep moving –even knowing the reward isn’t tangible or guaranteed anytime soon.

If he can continue to push forward until he isn’t ready to vomit his heart into his hands, and once he no longer feels like breaking apart, he will drive some more. He will drive until he ends as far away from Chris and his own bitter emotions as possible. Then he will settle and put himself back together again.

Chris will not destroy him with his actions. Tom will bounce back from this in due time. Not out of spite, but _in spite of_ Chris’ philandering ways.  Letting go of the hurt and suffrage will be just a minor recompense. A lovely ‘fuck you’ because he knows one day he shall smile and laugh and dance and find joy again. His happiness will be his greatest merit in the face of Chris’ actions.

For he is no longer the man Tom loved wholeheartedly and without reservation. Chris crossed into forbidden territories; filled the empty, dark spaces within Tom which hadn’t seen light in ages. He brought Tom enough hope to accept love and give love in kind. Chris’ brand of succor made way for him to let go and fall hard with no inhibitions.

And that is the pinnacle of Tom’s utter contempt for Chris.

For Chris’ biggest crime was deceiving Tom into thinking this, him, _they_ were it. Security and comfort and contentment were dreams turned reality when he met Chris. He paved the way for Tom to walk in and make himself at home only to turn around and offer the same to someone he claims meant nothing.

Tom wishes Chris would’ve kept that part to himself. If Chris could give his treasures freely to another that wasn’t him, was the value of Chris really as priceless as Tom thought? Was he as priceless to Chris as he once believed?

Those sorts of questions led down a narrow path Tom wasn’t willing to tread.

He would not doubt himself in this –would not question the how, the why, who, what and where. None of that mattered any longer. Chris stepped out on him and therefore Chris should doubt himself. Tom refused to become the cliché of a jilted lover. He would make no excuses for Chris’ behavior by finding fault in himself. Chris had no reason to lie with another, to _fuck_ and _hold_ and _kiss_ someone who wasn’t Tom.  

No, he would exorcise this man from his heart as much as capable.

With a decade of memories behind them, of them fucking and fighting and loving each other with every piece of themselves, Tom knew it would not be an easy feat.

In order to succeed, Chris had to become the ultimate villain, the monster beneath the bed that only attacked under the protection of night.

It wasn’t too far from the actual truth the way Tom saw it. Chris waited until he fully entrenched himself in complacency, wearing familiarity like a finely threaded cloak on his thin shoulders, before striking at the Apex of Tom; his heart.

He supposes he should be grateful. Chris came to him with the truth, albeit three months after the fact, whereas most would’ve continued to hide it. Tom is no fool. Chris would’ve continued lying to him, kept him in the dark for much longer had Jane not gotten pregnant.

It burns him to the very pits of his soul.

This incurable knowledge makes him sick up upon waking, the very thought cramping and debilitating him from the inside out as he rushes to the commode to empty his stomach until only frothy acid remains. 

In the end, over a decade of shared history equates to naught except for lies and life.

Chris wins what Tom could never give him. A child, proper from his loins, and a cunt to bury his cock in. Chris couldn’t have made his newfound desires any clearer. Jane is the exact opposite of Tom, in mind, body and spirit and that’s all the proof he needs to pack his shit and get the fuck out of dodge.

He has never been one to stay where he isn’t wanted and all signs pointed to the end of their road. Unchartered territory sends a prickle of fear along his spine these days; used to knowing the road maps for his designed paths on sense memory alone. He often compared his life to a great epically gay romance, written entirely with bumps and jumps, but with a perfunctory romantic ending.

Bullshit.

Tom doesn’t really want to re-write his story, there is no point when life does what it wants, and so he decides to let it write itself.

Chris has always been a game changer. When he decided he wanted cock, he pursued Tom until he gave in and let Chris fuck him behind their high school bleachers. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, consequences be damned.

Tom thinks he should’ve expected it –sooner or later the rules would no longer apply for him. One day he wouldn’t be safe from Chris’ whims. That day came sooner than he prepared for.

And it _hurts_ his very soul.

He wants to crawl within himself and lick his wounds from the inside out. Bury himself in the deepest recesses of the earth, someplace far away from people. It’s not enough to lose his lover, his best friend, his partner in life. He’s lost the home he built with Chris and the years of their lives embedded in the very foundation.

Tom thought he could stay and work through it.

Fool that he is.

Fool that he was.

He left the day after the confession, haphazardly throwing his belongings in trash bags and worn suitcases while Chris attempted to sabotage his move, holding his clothes hostage as he pleaded with him to see reason, to just stay and work it out.  

Chris’ tears, his hangdog expression, meant all of shit to Tom.

He stood in the center of their living room, eyes flitting to every surface littered with an accumulation of their combined lives and simply didn’t care anymore. He took items that were irreplaceable; his childhood photo album, his record collection, some antique books and his favorite t-shirts. Chris could have anything left.

He didn’t have any fight left in him, didn’t want to have a last harrowing scene with Chris.

He did anyway.

It couldn’t have been prevented.

Chris wouldn’t let him leave and Tom wouldn’t allow himself to stay. He never thought they would burn so ingloriously –more apt to believe they were destined for longevity. He can admit something in him snapped.

Such a bright, white hot rush of anger as every possible scenario played like a bad B movie in his head.

Chris and _that woman_ fucking in their home, sharing kisses as they laughed at Tom’s absolute cluelessness, moving from room to room and displacing each imprint Chris and Tom left with their careless, selfish actions.

Tom lashed out spectacularly; words so sharp and cutting that he would swear he left Chris in bloody shreds. And when he thought he ran out of fuel, he found a cache of barbs and let Chris have it some more.

His intent to maim Chris to the point of being unrecognizable.

Chris needed to hurt, needed to feel a fraction of what Tom felt.

He cannot forget the way Chris brushed aside his insecurities, telling Tom he only imagined the brazen, lingering glances between him and Jane. He purposely made Tom doubt himself, convinced him of his own sensitivity and how he felt threatened because Chris’ attention wasn’t solely on him.

Yes, he can admit he struck with precision, taking jabs at Chris’ softest spots. He knew Chris in a way Jane never would, knew where to hit to bring him down hard.

Which he did repeatedly.

Tom attacked Chris unrelentingly; voice hoarse, words cracking and throat raw from shouting every form of derision that came to mind.

Chris made no effort to defend himself against Tom’s verbal assault.

Tom would never be able to take Chris in a real physical fight, despite their episode the day before, and Chris’ cheating won him the emotional battle. Chris was batting two out of three. Tom made sure his barrage of words would be severe enough to render Chris incapable of stringing together a coherent rebuttal.

And when he thought Chris couldn’t take anymore he dug deeper.

Insulting his manhood, his dreams, his fears, and his very existence. He’s pretty sure he cursed the baby with the looks of a rabid Pokémon. The unborn child an innocent, yes, but Tom never claimed he wasn’t _petty as fuck_ when angry and defensive.  

And once Tom looked at himself, really looked, he found he couldn’t stand the sight.

This battle of theirs too dramatic, too confrontational, too many things they’ve never been. They weren’t these people who fought viciously and wrung themselves out from the stink of unhappiness and weariness and resentment.

They were meant to be the couple that set the bar for others to envy. Amazing heights too high to see and depths too deeply intimate to understand. Their friends bemoaned finding a love so perfect, so compatible, so in love.

Which made leaving the only option left.

He grabbed what he wouldn’t leave behind with Chris hot on his heels the entire way to his car.

Chris refused to let Tom leave, blocking the car door to prevent him from climbing in. It took a neighbor, alarmed by the shouting in a normally peaceful neighborhood, to intervene on Tom’s behalf. Tom would’ve kissed the timid man if he didn’t already look so afraid of Chris. The interference bought him enough time to escape Chris’ grasp and climb through the passenger door.

He should’ve been embarrassed at causing a scene in front of people who had no right knowing his private life, ashamed of how public his pain had become. His and Chris’ tear-streaked faces and stress-lined faces couldn’t be missed.

Mostly, he wanted to get the hell away from Chris, shame be damned.

Chris relentlessly pursued Tom, determined to keep him home at all costs. He blocked Tom’s exit, his massive frame standing in the middle of their cul-de-sac, daring Tom to run him over.

His usually neat blonde hair hung wild around his shoulders, face red with grit and determination. He stood sentinel, straddling the line so Tom couldn’t go either way without the possibility of hitting him.

Neighbors had begun peeking out of their windows, a few of the bolder ones stepping out to calm Chris down, telling him to move from the center of the street. He refused to budge and there wasn’t anyone man enough to challenge him.

It took Chris’ mother, Rene, to arrive on the scene.

Someone must’ve called her, told her how her sons were behaving. He expected it really; it never took long in their town for the gossip to run rampant. She climbed out of her truck and stood to the side of Chris, eyes darting to Tom’s behind the driver’s seat with worry lining her soft features. Her mouth moved lightly and Chris’ shoulders minutely loosened.

Rene motioned for Tom to pull in the driveway and he nodded, guilt hitting him tenfold for lying to a woman whom he loved so dearly. He watched them move off the street, Rene coaxing Chris with a dainty hand on his arm to stand on the curb. Tom’s palms were sweaty as he held onto the steering wheel. Chris continued to stare over his shoulder at Tom, Rene too, nodding her head to the open park space.

Tom took one last, long look at their home.

The mailbox they painted the color of spring leaves when they bought the house, the ugly gnome with the missing nose Chris couldn’t live without, their blooming garden with neat little colorful rows of poppies and daisies.

One lingering look at what he intended to leave behind.

His eyes met Chris’ and Tom thinks the blonde knew in that moment they’d reached the end. Chris made to run toward the car, tossing off his mom’s hand without thought as he attempted to barrel Tom’s way.

Tom sped off down the street, the screech of his tires a mere hum compared to the deafening thud of his heart. He adamantly did not look back, didn’t sneak a look in his rear view mirror. Chris could explain to his mother without Tom, it wasn’t his problem nor his baby.

Chris was on his own from now on.

He wanted to lose himself in vices he hadn’t touched in years, search through his contacts and see if he could score some pot or Xanax. Instead he went to their normal Friday night bar, ignoring the regulars who knew him by name. He bypassed everyone with minimal recognition, focused on the rows and rows of alcohol lining the back of the bar.

He ordered a ‘suicide’ –a strong combination of several dark liquors– lining up doubles in quick succession until he felt drunk enough to let the bar owner, Robert, fuck him over his office desk. Twice.

It’s when he’s bent over, a liquor ledger in his peripherals, the numbers blurring together as his eyes welled with tears that the definition of loss catches him. Robert soothed him, quiet murmurs of ‘ _don’t cry, pretty, don’t cry’_ and ‘ _he isn’t worth your tears_ ’, hands caressing his hips as he slowed his thrusts.

Tom didn’t want this slow mockery of love making.

He pushed back into Robert’s thrusts hard, ignoring the wetness on his face, and raising his voice loud enough to be heard through the thin office walls. The slap of skin on skin, the fingers digging deep into his hips as he wildly bucked on Robert’s cock egging him to take his own pleasure.

Let the patrons hear, Tom thought, let it reach Chris’ ears how his love yelped akin to a bitch in heat and screamed louder for ‘ _deeper, harder, faster’._

A sense of vindication came over him when he cooled down enough to allow Robert’s cock to slip from him. Chris actively despised Robert, hated the way his eyes lingered on Tom with blatant attraction, hated the sportive smiles he graced Tom with when serving their drinks.

Two wrongs never make a right, but this one felt pretty damn good.

Tom accepted Robert’s invitation to go home with him as he leant into Tom’s space, kissed the edge of his mouth before slowly licking his way in. Tom accepted it –wanted one memory that wasn’t with Chris before he left this town in the dredges along with his pain.

“One night?” Robert asks with one raised eyebrow, a flirtatious tilt to his lips.

“One night.”

The smile that graced Robert’s face caused Tom to lower his eyes. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to tell Robert he’s only staying because he’s too drunk to leave on his own.

Robert takes him to his tiny apartment above the bar and Tom lets him fuck him throughout the night on every surface available. If he has to leave, and leave he will, his last memories will not be of him standing in the middle of his home with tears and snot running down his face.

Tom slipped out while Robert slept, the rising sun barely a blip in the distance of the slowly lightening sky. He leaves a small slip of paper on the kitchen counter with a simple ‘thank you’ written.

Sitting in his car, he creates a new email address and sends messages to those who matter (his family, Chris’ parents and older brother, his work and the few friends he doesn’t share with Chris) telling them he’s leaving and will be in touch. He doesn’t provide details –they’ll find out soon enough when Jane begins showing.

It’s a selfish move, his leaving abruptly with no real warning, yet it is the only one he is capable of right now.

He ignores the numerous missed calls and texts from Chris, his parents, his sisters, Rene and Anthony, Chris’ brothers, their friends. His emotions are too tumultuous and he’s afraid he will go back home and readily accept Chris’ leftover offerings.

Choose familiarity over happiness.

He stared at the piece of black plastic and flimsy metal for ages before pulling the SIM card out and factory resetting the phone. This way Chris will have no access to him and no means in which to track Tom through their joint account. The headache of removing Chris piece by piece has only just begun. He still has to worry about their shared bank accounts, credit cards and their home.  

Tom used to wonder why people would leave everything behind to their exes. He couldn’t comprehend how they could walk away from everything they’d worked hard to build.

And now he understands with perfect clarity.

It’s much easier to walk away and avoid the emotional freefall that will surely torture him rather than fight over paper money or material shit he can buy at any time.

Tom observed the only town he’d ever called home light up, the long fingered rays from the rising sun beginning to paint the earth in hues of burnt orange and lemon-butter yellow.

Urgency rushed through his veins telling him to put the car in gear and _go, go, go, go_ before he lost the courage to leave.

He tossed the phone from the window and sped away from the bar, feeling lighter the farther he drove. There were no ties keeping him here anymore. His friends, his family, would be all right.

So he drives, and he drives and when he feels he has nothing left, he drives some more.

****

** Lonely **

Six years.

“Daddy.”

Six agonizingly long years.

“Daddy.”

Not a day went by that Chris didn’t think of him.

“Daddy!”

Chris snapped out of his reverie and turned to the tiny girl tugging his pajama-clothed leg. Picking her up, he settled her on his hip and moved through the house toward the kitchen.

“Good morning, honey,” Chris rumbled, planting kisses on his daughters face. She squealed with delight as he swung her over his head before sitting her down at the breakfast nook. “Cereal?”

“I want loops!” Her tiny head of blonde curls bounced with her enthusiasm. “Make some for mommy too.”

Chris nodded his agreement. While he held no ill will toward Jane, his wife for the past four years, he wasn’t in love with her. Had never been in love with her or wanted more from her than the quickness of bending her over a desk before going home to his where his heart rested.

And here he was.

Trapped in a loveless relationship with the woman who wholeheartedly assisted in breaking up the marriage of his heart.

 _Tom_.

Chris could repeat his name like a mantra and Tom still wouldn’t appear. He’d disappeared from Chris’ world and the few people he kept in contact with wouldn’t give Chris the information to reach out to him. To make things right, to bring him home, to show him how much Chris loved him and is _sorry_ , _sorry_ , _sorry_.

Some mornings he forgot this life was his reality.

Discontent settling in when he rolled over and his mouth found breasts instead of a smooth, lightly muscled chest, his hand buried in cunt instead of stroking a cock. A jarring shock when the smell of warm vanilla sugar pervaded his senses instead of the earthy tones of sandalwood and citrus.

Those days were the worst because then he was made to remember.

Chris’ thoughts would flow freely, bombarding him with images of laughing with Tom, kissing Tom, holding Tom, loving Tom.

Being in the presence of Tom.

Tom, who would roll over in the morning, eyes alight with a smile as he brushed Chris’ hair from his forehead. Tom, who would make his coffee just the way he liked (something no one else could do) and prepare his French toast in a perfect ratio of sweet whipped cream and powdered sugar.

Memory upon memory of days gone by.

Tom pulling him away from his work and into their bedroom to nap together. Tom whispering sweet nothings into his ear when he thought Chris was asleep. Tom giving him a massage after a fight with his father. Tom making his favorite meal ‘ _just because, Chris’_.

One moment never failed to replay in his thoughts.

Tom’s last sweet words to Chris as he pressed against his back, kissing the point of Chris’ shoulder and snuggling closer.

_‘I’d crawl into the cage of your ribs so I could always be close to your heart. That’s how much I love you. That’s how much I hope you love me.’_

And Chris felt that love deep in his bones.

Felt his love for Tom grow and stretch, expanding his soul until it felt fit to burst from his skin. Instead of turning in the hold of Tom’s arms to devour his words with teeth and tongue, he feigned sleep, guilt gnawing at every bit of him. Knowing that as his lover spoke he was playing on him with someone who held half of Tom’s worth.

His sweet, loving man, who he turned into ice and stone.

Because in five years Tom hadn’t once tried to contact him. Had deleted himself so entirely from Chris’ life that he began to think the years they spent together were a figment of his imagination.

After Tom left it seemed everything else connected to him began to disappear too.

Tom’s parents and sisters were the first to shun him for hurting their son and brother. A very warm and welcoming family naturally, Chris wasn’t prepared for the backlash of anger and hurt. He didn’t expect to go unscathed from his actions, however, he didn’t expect it would hurt so much to be seen as the enemy.

Sarah, Tom’s oldest sister, eventually came around after his daughter was born and slowly the others followed behind her. Their families were too intertwined after years of shared holidays, and while the animosity toward Chris had lessened several degrees, his relationship with them was never the same.

Next went their collective friends.

The invites and calls began to dwindle until they ceased completely. Familiar faces turned familiar strangers. He still had his same group of friends, and even though they didn’t say it, he knew they merely tolerated Jane’s presence. They didn’t actually _like_ her.

Not even his own mother would tell him how to reach Tom. His tears, his fears, nor his whispering pleas of ‘ _Mama’_ could sway her. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Rene would say, stroking a hand across his bearded cheek with eyes full of sympathy. “But I love Tom too and this is the choice you made.”

Chris would grit his teeth, biting down the harsh words he wanted to spew. She wouldn’t budge.

He would turn to his father with a desperate hope etched on his face.

“You gave him up, son,” Anthony would tell him, eyes clear with resolve. “Tom was lost to you the moment you laid with Jane.”

He tried his brothers, Luke and Liam, but Luke outright refused and Liam only spoke to Tom through their mother because no one trusted him not to turn the information over to Chris. He didn’t even want to try Tom’s parents, Diana nor James, _ever_ again after the first time he went round asking.

And that _stupidfuckingprick_ Robert couldn’t wait to rub in the fact that he’d had Tom in his bed.

It took six officers and two E.M.T.’s to pull Chris off the man once he’d let that tidbit slip. Robert’s nose still sat crooked to this day and Chris found the $75,000 bail and assault charge on his record were completely worth it.

When asked the reason behind his cheating, he honestly couldn’t give a straight answer. He wasn’t bored with Tom. Their sex life was great. They rarely fought. There were no logically sound reasons to his madness except that he was selfish and stupid.

Tom was thoughtful, smart, clever and funny and he was unequivocally Chris’.

Until Chris gave it up for an eager cunt, that was only _partially_ pleasing, and a starry-eyed disposition that bordered on fatal attraction.

He didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want Jane. He married her in a pique of drunken anger. He remembers being so livid that night at the very thought of Tom. A year later and his heart had vanished so completely until he was a mere figment of the imagination on Chris’ best nights.

As revenge against Tom for leaving and never looking back, Chris took Jane to the courthouse and said, “I do.”

He woke with the hangover from hell and regret the size of Texas. His first glance at the marriage certificate kept him hurling over a toilet for the next three days.

Jane bought the excuse that it was the alcohol purging itself when in reality it was remorse keeping him ill. He made plans to have the marriage annulled, but one look at his daughter sleeping in the room next door held his hand. He wanted to be a bigger part of her life than his assigned visits every other weekend.

He tolerated Jane for the sake of his child.

Jane thought the world shined from his ass. Too obsessed with his looks and physique to see the flawed man beneath the pretty veneer. Always willing to jump if it would please him. Thus Chris pasted on faux smiles and faked cheer to keep the boat that was his life steady.

At any moment he felt he would tip headfirst into his emotions and be lost at sea, afloat among the abject miseries that were the put-together pieces of his life. Not many, save for his parents, could see through his carefully constructed façade.

People only saw what he wanted them to see.

No one could look at him and tell he cried the moment Tom’s scent faded from the lone sweater he’d managed to accidentally leave behind.

No one knew he kept pictures of Tom beneath his keyboard and behind his debit card in his wallet.

Or how he bought Tom’s favorite cologne in lieu of his own.

No one could look at him and tell that he still frequented their favorite restaurant, ordering their usual meals, and ate them alone in his car every other Friday night.

Gone were the days of genuine happiness. Gone were the days he could be himself.

He missed those days.

But mostly, he missed Tom.

Missed. Misses. Missing. Miss.

Chris felt every tense of the word and it seemed the pure want would never go away. There wasn’t anyone left to tell his story to. No one would hear it and not give him the look that spoke louder than words.

 _You brought this on yourself_.

So he played a role and dealt with his self-inflicted heartbreak alone. Constantly wearing a fake smile and pretending that Jane, his daughter, his career and family were enough.

The truth much harsher than he wanted to admit.

It made him feel sick to his stomach as he truly loved his little girl, but she wasn’t _enough_ to fill the hole left in his life after Tom left.

She wasn’t enough to make him smile and really, really have his heart feel it.

Each day was trying on his patience. He didn’t know how many more seconds he would have to live without Tom and the thought of this desperate loneliness stretching further into his future made each breath taken more excruciating than the last.

He wants to scream bloody murder until all is right within his world. Scream and fight and kick and scream and fight and kick until Tom is by his side, in his bed, in his life. Until Tom allows him back in his heart, his head, his soul.

He didn’t just miss Tom’s affection.

Chris missed the ways he could speak freely about his innermost demons and the hopes he held for the future.

Or how Tom would ask him about his day, dropping everything to focus his attention on Chris. He made Chris know he was loved and cherished and Chris missed his presence with an acute ache that pricked through to his core.

He missed having the right, the option, to show Tom his love in kind.

“Daddy.”

He missed licking his way into the cavern of Tom’s mouth, tasting each hidden secret before sliding deeply into the tightly coiled heat of his body.

“Daddy.”

He missed the way Tom would clench down on him, nails raking symmetrical lines into the flesh of his back.

“Daddy.”

Chris missed the way Tom would bite his pleasure into his skin, leaving wet trails of saliva wherever his mouth could reach.

“Daddy.”

He missed the wild halo of Tom’s curls tickling his nose and the way he would tuck his cold feet against Chris’ shins on a winter day and the way he liked to sit on Chris’ lap while he worked and steal kisses.

“Daddy.”

Chris missed the sound of Tom’s laugh, his head tossed back and long neck on display. Chris used to watch his Adam’s apple bob and would lick it with the tip of his tongue just to feel the vibrations hum through him and the list goes on and on and on and on.

“Daddy!”

Chris snapped out of his reverie and turned to the tiny girl tugging his pajama-clothed leg. Picking her up, he settled her on his hip and moved through the house toward the kitchen.

“Good morning, honey.” Chris’ deep voice reverberated. “Cereal?”

 

** Risk **

Tom can admit his plans don’t always go as smoothly as he planned.             

No, he didn’t rightly think out the magnitude of his move across the states. Barring his highly deserved rage with Chris’ infidelity, he supposes he should’ve contemplated on his plans a bit more thoroughly before he made his abrupt move.

His belief that Chris’ actions would turn his heart sour was a lie as soon as the thought formed. It took much longer than he thought – _nearly two years_ – before he could put his soul back together.

He can admit, even if only to himself, that he slept fitfully without Chris beside him.

Tom will never tell a soul that he didn’t step foot out of his weekly rental for the first three months of his self-imposed exile.

He definitely cannot tell anyone that he curled into a ball on the dirt-stained bathroom floor crying and screaming simultaneously and didn’t move for a week.

And he will never share how he lost 45lbs and had to be hospitalized for malnutrition and dehydration.

No, these are the secrets he keeps hidden within.

When his family rang him, pleading with him to ‘ _just come home’_ , he put on his faux-happy voice and fed them many a lie to make his new existence sound much more darling and progressive than it actually was.

_My new job keeps me so busy._

He lived off unemployment the first year.

_I volunteered to help save the whales._

He’d bought a pet goldfish that died within two days.

_I signed up for culinary classes and they start that week._

The new season of Chopped premiered and he refused to move from his shabby couch.

_I started seeing a new man and we are still learning to communicate._

The old mailman retired and the new mailman spoke very limited English.

Eventually his family got the hint and spared him from having to make excuses, only asking him from time-to-time if he thought he would ever return.

Tom loves his family and despises himself for putting such a great divide between them. When the crux is that he was too ashamed, too embarrassed, too much of everything to allow his family to see him sunk so low.

Tom makes due with weekly video calls and the odd card here and there.

There is never a mention of Chris or his new family. That is filed under the topic **Things Not Discussed**. And honestly, Chris is the only thing on that list besides Tom’s failed fifteenth birthday party.

Everyone knows to never, _ever_ mention that.

When he speaks to Rene and Anthony, they dutifully bypass Chris’ very existence in their bid to keep Tom in their lives. He doesn’t know how to repay them for their willingness to protect him when they’ve no obligation to him. To know his love is returned tenfold niggles sweetly through him.

Sadly, he had to scratch Liam from the exception list if he didn’t want the entire town to know his whereabouts. That boy can barely hold water let alone a secret. He will only speak to Liam through Rene or Anthony.

Still, there are so many things he cannot, will not, do not say.

Such as his love for Chris.

It still exists within a locked door of his heart where he sends painful memories, located next to the doorway of **Things Not Discussed** , and hides the many emotions he refuses to face.

Or his doubts about his leaving. He oft wonders how things might have worked had he remained. Would they have been able to work out the kinks and shreds in their relationship? He still answers with a firm and resounding ‘No!’, but doubt lingers on his worst days.

And yet he finds himself on a plane home for the first time in nearly seven years and he is absolutely petrified of what may come.

Tom knows his family is on friendly terms with Chris’ and he doesn’t begrudge them still caring for the Hemsworth clan. His greater worry is how to school his facial expressions and control his body reactions should he run into Chris.

That’s the problem with running from your problems. He didn’t give himself time to harden in front of Chris and now he worries he will turn into a pile of putty at first glance.

It’s not like he’s still in love with Chris.

If someone asked he would tell them that falling out of love was the worst part of a breakup. The dissolution of their relationship hadn’t actually prepared him for having to _let go_ of Chris. Release of the baggage was meant to be the greatest relief. Instead, he’d felt more adrift than ever as he swiftly floated away from his anchor.

Chris could only remain the villain for so long before the memories once again forced him into remembering every good time, every whisper, kiss, fuck and laugh they shared. The superimposed images of the Chris he knew and the Chris who broke his heart blurred until the line separating them were nearly invisible. That image made it harder to move on when he could recall every reason he loved Chris.

Tom felt worse on those nights when he couldn’t put words to the emotions tangled within him. Often leading him to frustration as he constantly asked himself, “ _Why can’t I get the fuck over this_?”

Until the day Tom got sick and tired of being sick and tired. It took one look at himself in the mirror, one hour long character study, for him to switch gears. He was disgusted by the pathetic mess of a situation he’d gotten himself into by becoming the victim.

Running low on cash, food and self-esteem, Tom had said, “Enough of this shit.”

Within a month he’d gotten a job and an apartment. And wasn’t that a low-blow? To go from owning a home in the suburbs to renting a single in a neighborhood a step away from being a ghetto. But it was his and he was proud and he was _finally, finally_ doing something other than mourning the loss of his everything.

Tom remembers buying a few bottles of Arbor Mist (and Lord, buying wine for $7 was a low at the time) and sharing with two of his neighbors as they sat on their porch and discussed their woes. Until they stopped being neighbors and became friends who clubbed together, drank together, borrowed sugar and bug spray and threw BBQ’s in their tiny pool area.

Until Tom could go a day without feeling like he were breaking in two from just the thought of Chris.

The Captain announces their landing time and Tom smiles to himself. He is a different man than he was before. He can handle whatever is thrown at him including a cheating, lying and stupid-faced ex.

“It’s good to be home,” he whispers to himself.

***

“I am ready to go home,” Tom whines to himself.

He is pretty sure his family is trying to make him suffer for leaving. As soon as he stepped off the plane he was put to work from one house to the other.

Cleaning gutters, mowing the lawns, fixing broken cabinets, cleaning the pool, washing his parents’ cars, putting together a baby bed for Emma and the list goes on.

Which is how Tom finds himself at the grocery store perusing the many different oatmeal boxes. He can’t tell one from the other and his mother wasn’t specific enough on brand or type when she sent him on yet another errand.

“I know who you are.” The soft voice came from somewhere around his knees.

Tom whipped his head to the left, eyes scanning back and forth to confirm the little tow-headed girl was indeed speaking to him.

“I am talking to you, mister,” she huffed, planting tiny fists on an even tinier waist.

The shape of her brown eyes and the tiny pink bow of pursed lips were familiar to him somehow, but for the life of him he couldn’t pinpoint who she reminded him of.

“Yes, but the question is _why_ are you talking to me?” Tom raised an eyebrow at her whilst dropping a fruity oatmeal container into his basket. “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers?”

“Yes, but you’re notta stranger.” She stood on her tiptoes and peeked into his basket. “I told you already. I know you.”

“How old are you?” Tom moved his basket out of her reach and took two steps back lest anyone get the wrong idea about a grown ass man talking to a random child.

His brow furrowed as she closed the distance between them again.

“I am Chrissy and I am six years old.” Her head of curls bobbed with her enthusiasm as she beamed her baby-toothed grin at him.

“So, Miss Six,” Tom smiled at her girlish giggles. “How do you know me?”

“I am afraid that would be my fault.”

And fuck him if that voice didn’t zap through him like a palpable energy.

It bordered on seven years since he’d heard that certain timbre and it was as effective as when they were teenagers. Still made Tom want to drop trou, grab his ankles and let the man have at him.

As an alternative, Tom schooled his features into something resembling pleasant surprise before turning to face the man he was hoping to avoid for the rest of his life.

Oh, how Tom wanted to punch him in his pretty fucking face for having the audacity to look so damn golden and godly. Chris’ hair was longer and blonder while his muscles had grown muscles of their own. If possible, he seemed taller, leaner and every bit as handsome as the first time Tom laid eyes on him.

“I hoped you’d gotten fat,” Tom murmured, expression morphing into surprise when he realized he’d spoken aloud.

Chris laughed deep and loud, reaching a hand out for the little girl watching their interaction with rapt attention.

“I hate to disappoint you, but no, not fat.”

Tom made a noise of agreement before deciding it was time to high-tail it out of the store. His parents could stand to skip a few meals.

“Your Pokémon is beautiful. Looks just like you,” Tom said, moving to push his basket around the twin blondes. “I must get going. Apparently, sons-turned-slaves are on time limits.”

Chris’ visible disappointment left Tom with a miniscule satisfaction as he rushed away. He didn’t miss the way Chris’ arm dropped from a half-aborted attempt of reaching out to touch him.

 _Good_ , Tom thought, _I’m no longer yours to touch._

And still Tom walked away with feelings of disappointment and longing.

He returned to his parents’ home in a bit of a daze. Barely registered their presence as he put the groceries away.

Honestly, he was shaken from his very brief encounter with Chris and his daughter.

Quite frankly, it fucking annoyed him how much hold Chris still held over him. At the first sound of his voice his hands were instantly clammy, his mouth gone dry, the entire nine yards of feeling like a teenager rushing over him.

These feelings took him back to freshman year of high school when he first met Chris. Those same butterflies and nervousness set his stomach aquiver, and once again, Chris had knocked him from his orbit with nothing more than a few spoken words.

Tom despised the lack of control he felt. It made him reckless; made him want to act even more recklessly.

And who better to act recklessly with than a certain bartender.

“No, no and no again,” Robert said vehemently, turning his back on Tom as he restocked his shelves. “Whatever cat dragged you in can drag you right back out.”

“To what do I owe such a warm welcoming,” Tom replied, honest confusion regarding Robert’s outright rejection.

Robert spun around from the bar with wide eyes, pointing a finger at his nose for a reason Tom couldn’t fathom.

“Do you see my fucking nose?” Robert spat angrily, leaning closer into Tom’s space until he had no choice but to study the appendage.

“Uhhhh, yes?”

“Your fucking boyfriend –”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Tom corrected.

“What the fuck ever.” Robert waved a dismissive hand in Tom’s direction. “He came in here and tried to murder me over you. Broke my nose, three ribs, put a crack in my collarbone and literally tried to strangle me with his bare hands.”

Tom stood stunned. He had no idea when this took place as his family hadn’t mentioned it. He closed his gaping mouth, trying to form words to utter an apology or condolences, but words failed him.

“Exactly.” Robert turned his back on Tom to resume his stocking. Over his shoulder he said, “I’m not a cat with nine lives to spare over a hot piece of ass. It’d be best if you left and didn’t come back.”

Tom bowed out gracefully, muttering a soft ‘goodbye’ under his breath before deciding reckless wasn’t the best way to go about it.

He’d not meant to drag Robert that far into his mess before he left. He only wanted a bit of revenge. The worst part is he didn’t have to deal with the fallout from his actions. Robert took it all for the both of them.

When he returned home the first person he ran into was his father. Tom stopped him before he could continue heading to his lounge chair in front of the television.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me what happened with Robert?” Tom questioned, peering at his father with open confusion.

James sighed and turned back to Tom. “What good would it do? What would you have done?”

“I don’t know, but it would’ve been nice to know,” Tom replied, anger beginning to color his voice.

“It was a few months after you left,” James said with a touch of awkwardness. “Some of the folks said Robert egged Chris on. Telling him how good –well you know. Chris lost it and tried to make Robert one with the concrete. Ended up with an assault charge and restraining order. So now you know.”

With that said, James turned and left Tom standing in the hallway alone.

Tom wanted to ask more questions about what else he missed. He decided not to in order to keep his air of indifference, but he couldn’t lie to himself. To know Chris went into a jealous rage over him does great things for his ego. It made him feel powerful even though the moment was long past.

Tom knows it is petty and still he cannot help the jealous pang he felt when he saw Chrissy.

And what kind of stupid name is Chrissy? Jane was that desperate to name the child after Chris that she formed it in the shape of a nickname.

He will give it to them, even though it kills him to admit it, but they made a cute kid. She will be stunning when she reaches maturity and Chris will have his hands full with keeping men away from her. She got the best parts of Chris and Jane and Tom can own that truth.

To himself, he owns an even greater truth. He is jealous of Chris’ new life without him.

It physically pains him to know he could never give Chris the gift of creation. To know Chris helped create a little human and to know the other half of her genetic makeup belongs to someone other than him is an ill he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Being back home has his head reeling; he finds himself constantly reinventing a new reality every time he allows Chris to rip a hole in the fabric of all he has built.

It took time, tears, patience and an intense commitment to himself to let the past rest. Tom forces himself to remember and hold onto the thought.

Their moment, he and Chris’, is firmly in the past.

****

** Possibilities **

“Noonie, could you go any slower?”

Chris watched Tom bat Chrissy’s hands away from where he sat wrapping Christmas gifts for their families.

“Chrissy,” Tom mimicked in a whiny voice, “could you be any more annoying than you already are?”

The ten-year old ( _nearly eleven, daddy_ ) laughed brightly at the nasally voice as she draped her small body along Tom’s back.

“I hate when you say my name like that.”

“You should hate whoever gave you that stupid name to match your stupid father.”

“Noonie, you love me and you know it.”

“I can love you and hate your name.”

Chris tuned the duo out and resumed his mediocre wrapping. It was normal to hear them bantering this way and they could go forever so it was best to get out while ahead.

For a man who claimed he hated children, Tom made a great pseudo-dad for Chrissy. The pair were near inseparable during Tom’s visits. It started as a fantasy, raising a child with him, and eventually became a near reality.

When Tom wasn’t around, he made sure to call Chrissy and ask after her day, school and many other mundane things. Such as their love for _Rick and Morty_ ; although Chris thought there were far too explicit for any child under fifteen. Yet, he wouldn’t deny Tom a shared interest with his daughter.

In the years since Tom had come back into his life, things had progressed to the point where they were able to reconcile their differences and be in each other’s presence with no ill will. Or rather, Tom was able to stomach Chris for longer than ten minutes.

He’d even dare to say they were best friends.

Tom began to visit his family more often and with Tom visiting Chris’ parents whenever he was down, and Chrissy latching onto the man like a baby duckling, it was inevitable that the two would be thrown together from time-to-time.

Chris worked hard to wear Tom down during the man’s visits, practically begging at his heels for a modicum of attention. Tom’s word count during their early discussions were always in the single-digit numbers until they evolved to full sentences and then paragraphs.

Now the man would talk a monologue if Chris let him. Which Chris did time and time again.

Running into Tom in the grocery store that fateful day was Chris’ godsend. He was floating on a cloud of happiness having just divorced Jane and won physical custody of their daughter; he can even admit to himself that he built a fantasy in his head of how his reunion with Tom would go.

Tom would move back home, help him raise Chrissy (and yes, he can see why the name is annoying) and they would reaffirm their love before getting married and having more children.

In reality, it took the threat of Chris’ attempted stalking and _somuchdamntime_ to get Tom to even look at him longer than five seconds.  

Chris will never say out loud that he used Chrissy to worm their way into Tom’s life, but he is sure the man is already aware based on the sly looks he received whenever he used his daughter as an excuse to interact with Tom.

She did more than half the work for him by turning into Tom’s shadow whenever the man visited. And when she demanded to speak with Tom with watery eyes and a wobbly chin, well, not even Tom’s parents could deny the adorable creature access to their son.

It only took a year, but he had Tom’s email, cell phone number, land line and his home address. Even Liam was allowed the information; only after Chris had it already because everyone knew not to trust Liam.

And he has no remorse because it fucking worked ( _take that, Luke!)_ and while he might not have the man in his bed or arms, he has enough of him that he can’t complain.

Except he does. A lot. Mainly to Luke and their mom.

Tom was down visiting for the holidays and opted to stay at Chris’ this time.

(Chris almost didn’t believe him about being punished by his family for leaving, but after Diana made Tom re-paint all twelve garden gnomes on the front lawn and James made him lay down new flagstones in their 125ft driveway, he conceded that yes, Tom was definitely being punished. )

After the first time visiting, Tom refused to stay with any of his family. It suited everyone; his family didn’t have to hear him grumbling about needing a vacation after his vacation and Tom could avoid playing the role of farmhand.

Tom took to staying at Rene and Anthony’s house when he flew down for visits and Chris began making justifications to visit his parents more.

His excuses became more and more pathetic until the day Tom looked at him and said, “Chris, do you really expect me to believe that Mama called you over here to look for her _Steel Magnolias_ VHS?”

“She really loves the movie.”

“Or yesterday,” Tom continued, looking Chris dead in the eye. “You drove over here because Chrissy needed a Band-Aid. Nevermind you live closer to Walgreens than here.”

Chris has learned that shrugging is the best answer for no answer.

The good part is that he kicked and punched his way through all of Tom’s defenses and now they were friends. The bad part is that he did all of the kicking and punching through Tom’s defenses and they were still only friends.

Chris hasn’t been with anyone since Jane. Hasn’t had sex since year two of his four year marriage and he misses it. He suitably hides his want of Tom lest he scare him away – their relationship too solid and tenuous at once. They are comfortable with each other, but Chris fears letting Tom in on the extent of his desires. It’s a line he isn’t willing to cross until Tom gives him the go ahead.

There are topics, places and people that are no longer discussed.

After the huge row they had the first time they attempted to delve into the _why, why, why’s_ , both parties mutually decided to leave the past behind them.

Or maybe it had more to do with Chris’ resolve when he told Tom, “I have no excuse. I fucked up. I messed up the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I got Chrissy from it, but losing you was never an option until it was the only option. Jane never came close to what we had even at our worst moments. There was nothing wrong with you or our relationship. It was me, Tom. Me and my ego. That’s all there is to it.”

Either way, they left their troubles in the past after that. Mostly.

Robert’s bar is one they never go to.

The one time Tom mentioned his name Chris nearly lost it and they didn’t speak for a month. Chris knows he royally screwed up. Severely. But to know Tom had lain with Robert guts him every time.

Until he remembers it was worse for Tom. Chris’ fling left a living reminder while Tom’s fling left an invisible wound.

And after all she did to assist in breaking a part their relationship, Tom has never once commented on Jane.

Chris is sure it’s only out of respect to Chrissy, but he does his best to avoid bringing her into their bubble as best he can. Tom already has to live with the reminder of Chris’ actions. He shouldn’t have to live with Chris’ ties to her as well.

Except, Tom does take supreme glee in rubbing Jane’s face in his status in Chris and Chrissy’s lives. It’s not what he says, but moreso what he does.

When Jane comes by to pick up their daughter, Tom makes sure to give Chrissy extra-long hugs and kisses all over her impish face, calling her his ‘ _sweet little Pikachu_ ’ and accepting her abundant affection in return.

Jane turns red in the face every time.

If Chris notices Tom’s smug smirk, which he does, he never mentions it.

Another thing they don’t do is discuss their love lives.

Chris doesn’t think he could bear it if Tom were to tell him he’s met someone.

Again.

Tom dated a Steve Rogers for nearly eight months before he called it quits. Chris has never asked the reasons why; too grateful that Tom was his again (even if only in his mind) to pry into details he isn’t sure he wants to know.

“Chris,” Tom called as he walked toward him. And really, it should be called more of a runway strut in Chris’ opinion. “Come get your brat. She won’t stop asking questions.”

“You told her a smart girl asks a lot of questions,” Chris laughed.

“That’s because I thought she would only annoy _you_ ,” Tom sighed. “I sent her off to read a Harry Potter book, but I know the little stalker will be back soon.”

“Shotgun on playing sleep if she comes back.”

“ _When_ she comes back,” Tom corrects. “Not if.”

Chris is trying to tie a ribbon with too large fingers. He looks up at Tom for help, who huffs and gracefully folds his legs as he sits down on the floor.

“If I tie all of your ribbons then I get shotgun on playing sleep,” Tom said, taking the package from Chris’ lap. “I mean it. Don’t tell her to wake me up because only I will know the answer. You do that a lot when I get to use the excuse.”

Chris chuckled low and deep from the belly, remembering Tom’s betrayed face the first time he’d purposely botched their agreement. In all fairness, Chris didn’t know how to answer questions on magic and supernatural creatures. That is more Tom’s forte.

“Well don’t teach her subjects you know I know nothing about.”

Tom hummed under his breath, making quick work of the last few gifts Chris left unfinished.

“So…”

Chris looked from the gift to Tom’s face, taking note of how Tom avoided his eyes. He only did that when there was a subject he didn’t know how to approach.

“So….” Chris drawled, waving a hand for Tom to continue.

“Don’t rush me.”

Chris rolled his eyes, waiting for Tom to get to the point. No good ever came from rushing him as he would only make you wait longer.

“I am moving back,” Tom said into the silence, still refusing to make eye contact. “I was able to transfer my job through our sister company.”

Chris isn’t sure what else Tom is rambling about. He could care less. He didn’t hear anything after Tom said he was moving back. The very idea makes Chris’ chest ache and he dares to reach for Tom’s hand. Chris stares as Tom doesn’t hesitate to entwine their fingers and feels his heart leap to his throat.

An act so small, yet so intimate, and he feared letting go in case it was the last time he was granted the pleasure.

Chris cleared his throat, attempted to speak, and cleared it again. He felt like a swarm of butterflies had taken flight in his belly as excitement took over.

“That’s – that’s good,” Chris said approvingly, tightening the curl of his fingers against Tom’s own. “Really good.”

“Yeah, you think so?” Tom lifted his head shyly to peek at Chris and he finds it the most endearing sight to behold.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Chris rubbed a thumb over Tom’s knuckle, wanting badly to press a kiss to the soft skin there.

So he did. Repeatedly. Encouraged moreso by Tom’s soft smiles.

“Do you uh – uh have plans on where you will live?”

“My parents said I could come stay with them.” Tom laughed at Chris look of incredulity. “I turned them down, of course, and my sisters. And your parents. I even turned Liam down.”

“Liam knew before me and didn’t say anything,” Chris exclaimed in outrage.

“I told him if he kept his mouth shut that I would get him a date with the bartender from _Lucy’s_ down on Fifth Street.” 

“That little shit,” Chris laughed and pulled Tom closer into the fold of his arm. “So what did you decide?”

“I’ve been house hunting, but I’m not finding anything that fits me just right.” Tom shrugged and ran his free hand through his hair. “Too big. Too small. Too everything not right.”

Chris swallowed his nervousness and said, “You can always move in with me.”

“Yeah, Chrissy invited me to stay.”

“And…” Chris prompted. He decided not to make a fuss that even his own daughter knew before he did.

“This was _our_ house,” Tom started, eyes taking in all of the changes made in the past decade. “Then it was yours. Then it was yours and hers. Too many memories and too many imprints. Visiting is fine and dandy, but living full time in this house will make me miserable.”

Chris couldn’t fault Tom. Their journey in this house began with great remembrances. He and Tom fell in love with the house. Spent countless hours making their new home suitable for their combined personalities. Memory after beautiful memory until their separation.

Then Jane moved in and erased the last bits of Tom left in the home. Chris hated it but deemed it necessary at the time. The house wasn’t big enough for the ghost of Tom’s memory on top of a new wife and baby.

“Then we find another house,” Chris spoke into the silence. “If you want.”

Tom gripped his hand tighter, harder, and leaned his head against Chris’ shoulder.

“I want.” Tom took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I can’t help but think we’re rushing with the moving in bit.”

Chris huffed, “Rush? We’re the slowest burning fire to exist.”

Tom made a noise of agreement, a small smile playing on his lips.

Chris felt desperate to touch him and equal parts afraid to ask for more. His heart beat an uneven and hurried staccato. He is sure the _thump, thump, thump_ can be heard in this mute stillness.

“Tom, I don’t want to assume that you want more from this than what we have now.”

Chris took a slow and measured breath as he gathered his thoughts.

“But whatever it is, even if it goes no farther than this, I just want you to know that I am all in for whatever you have to give. Whatever you are willing to give.”

Tom remained silent, yet loose-limbed in Chris’ hold. For a moment, he wondered if he’d spoken too freely, given too much of himself in the space of a future unknown.

“It’s been ten years, Chris,” Tom spoke slowly, as if each word required thought before speech. “Ten years of trying to move past you and learning that I can survive without you.”

“Yes, I know,” Chris whispered, dread settling in his stomach

“I _can_ survive without you,” Tom continued, “but I don’t want to. You’ve been waiting on me for years. Don’t you think it’s time we move forward?”

Chris didn’t need further encouragement before he gathered Tom bodily into his arms despite Tom’s squeak of indignation at being handled so carelessly. Chris laughed and shook him a little more in jest. Tom barely opened his mouth to voice his umbrage before Chris’ tongue found better ways to shut him up.

Chris’ very soul began waxing poetic; phrases like ‘ _feels just like coming home’_ and ‘ _died and went to heaven_ ’ swiftly flitted through his mind before they were discarded just as quick. Tom would never let it go if he said anything that only belonged on a page from a Harlequin novel.

All Chris knew was the taste of Tom felt familiar, yet entirely new, and just as enticing.

Tom moaned into his mouth and ground his chest against Chris’ before pulling away, breathing roughly as he studied Chris.

Chris gaze was fierce as he studied Tom in return.

His eyes traced the flush that started on his cheekbones and disappeared into the V of his shirt, the quick rise and fall of his chest as he caught his breath, the glossy sheen of spit-shined lips and the brightened hue of his eyes. Chris ran a hand down the curve of his hip, palming Tom’s rear before squeezing the meat there gently.

This all belonged to Chris again and this time he would not fuck it up.

“I love you,” Chris blurted, eyes widening a fraction at his own lack of finesse. He nodded to himself, eyes raking over Tom’s face. “I would’ve waited ten more years for you.”

“Had I the fortitude, I would’ve made you,” Tom admitted, leaning forward to suck Chris’ bottom lip into his mouth.

“Well this is just great,” an annoyed voice interrupted.

Tom went limp in Chris’ arms, body a dead weight in his lap as Chris looked up to where his daughter stood. Chris couldn’t contain his laughter; be it at Tom faking slumber or Chrissy’s exasperated, yet secretly pleased expression.

“It’s too late to play sleep, Noonie.”

Tom groaned and sat up in Chris’ lap, lowering his head in resignation. “What do you want, you little cockblocker?”

Chris chuckled and slapped Tom’s ass. “Language around the child. She dropped two F bombs last week in class and I blame you.”

“Oh please,” Tom scoffed. “She got that fucking shit from Liam.”

Chrissy giggled.

Tom looked pleased, making himself more comfortable in Chris’ hold.

Chris just shook his head and resigned himself to his fate.


End file.
